


If tomorrow starts without you

by messaesthetic



Category: Autobiography - Fandom
Genre: #autobiography #angst #lgbt #psychedelics #euphoria #aesthetic #philosophy, #meaningoflife #death #spiritual #drugs #anime #sad #depression #happy, #originalbook #originalstory, F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29092581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messaesthetic/pseuds/messaesthetic
Summary: What if tomorrow starts without you? what if we could go back to yesterday and change what we want to change? Regrets, sorrow, anger, happiness, depression, euphoria, confusion...Life is unfair, what are we going to do about it? Whatever happens happens, as we can't control the terror of this reality we all want to escape.Here is a story based on true events. Events that taught me the true philosophy of life.
Kudos: 3





	1. E X I S T E N C E

**Author's Note:**

> 16+  
> ⚠️Delicate subjects, psychedelics and drug abuse will be mentioned in the book.⚠️
> 
> -Do NOT translate it. Do NOT repost it on other apps/sites. This is an autobiography. Not a fanfiction.-
> 
> •PART 2 of the story coming up!•

I will recommend one song per chapter! The playlist will be on Spotify under "If tomorrow starts without you SOUNDTRACKS."

Song: Maybe they will sing for us tomorrow - Hammock

Life. What is the reason for it? All we do is sleep, wake up, eat, work, and restart that routine. I'm not depressed or anything, but what could help us understand this evil and the cruel reality we call life? The depth of that little world. First, why do some people even mention that their existences are unimportant? They must live on the nasty side of that so-called reality. Let me tell you that; life can be mean to you. It can most definitely rip your emotions apart and throw them into the deepest darkness. But it's also beautiful, euphoric, and exciting to experience. You see, there were many times in my existence where I thought to myself, "I can't be happy anymore. I hate where I am". An inky cold place. Nobody wants to encounter those emotions caused by tragedies. 

My name is Messa. I was 16 at my first house party. Purple and pink LED lights were dancing in the living room. The man who drove my best friend, her friend, and I to the party was sitting on the brown leather couch, cross-faded. We called him Snoop Dogg because, let's face it, he resembled the rapper a lot. The same fellow stopped the fucking car in the middle of the road to let some gangsters talk to us. I'm not kidding when I tell you that I thought one of them was going to get a gun from the pocket of their long, dark brown jacket. Snoop opened my window to let them put their ugly heads in the vehicle to speak to us. That was the second scary part of that mini road trip to the house party. The first one being him not driving straight on the wrong lane. He was driving on the sidewalk sometimes. Thank God it was midnight and nobody was on the road. It was my first time being high smoking in a bong. There was porn on the TV, punk music roaring from every single speaker, cocaine on the glass table in front of my trembling legs. While my best friend Emily and her friend Megane french kissed, I was staring at the wall that reflected the moving lights. The blue glitters under my eyes mixed up with my melting mascara, making the makeup look messy. I had red, tired eyes. It felt like I had to smile through the stress this moment made me go through. It was during my first vacation alone in summer 2014, in Ottawa. That same summer, Robin Williams committed suicide. 

Why do people want to die? Why escaping that reality in such hardcore ways? Aren't they afraid of the suffering they would endure before their poor, damaged hearts cease to pump? When someone wants to leave this world, they usually have experienced trauma such as rape, mental or physical abuse, war trauma, etc. Nearly 22% of people who have been raped had attempted suicide at some point, while 23% who experienced physical assault tried to take their own life at some point. And that is only among adults in one single country. Now, this is 100% a fact. I'm not inventing anything. 

Hey, did you know the suicide rate for men is twice as high as for women? Yes, men have feelings and most likely hide those "shameful" emotions because society told them to be "strong, not weak. Or else you won't get a woman. Or else you won't be seen as serious." Oh man, the pressure they must carry on their shoulders. That sweet toxic masculinity haunts some to their graves, suffocating them with anxiety. Pushing them to act firm, resist any emotions that can easily make them look like wusses and cowards creatures. Women were laughing at them because some expect men to protect them. Women can be cruel to men. First of all, they're mostly into emotionless assholes that wouldn't give them enough love back. I'm not a love expert. I don't even want to know about love for a while. 

While I was glaring at that empty, boring wall, I heard glass breaking. As I jumped and snapped back to reality, my friends and I sprinted to where the noise came from. Arrived in the kitchen A tall, blond guy was standing in front of the broken back door. Drops of blood rolled down his forehead, traveling through his nose and mouth and letting the slim man taste the iron flavored liquid. Huge red stains colored the collar of his dark green shirt. He had an adorable expression on his face. No matter how fucked up he got, I couldn't help but gaze at his bright blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and pale skin. Suddenly, a woman arose from behind. She sounded terrified and mad at the same time. Like she wanted to punch the shit out of the delinquent who injured that boy. She gave off such a furious reaction, and she tried to find the person who put him in this situation. Megane took his arm and brought him to the bathroom upstairs. The stairs were right beside the open entrance of the kitchen and in front of the living room. While walking to their destination, the drops of blood fell on his jeans and floor. Everything was blurry to me as I was following them. The wooden steps were cracking under the soles of my shoes.

As I moved my pupils fast from left to right, the LED lights followed their movements. When you're high on that excellent plant called marijuana, everything seems so slow and more humorous, like a relaxing moment where you can finally be stress-free, focusing on breathing deeply. The world should be more like that. Slower paced and more moderate. We spend too much time working for a wage we don't deserve. There's not enough vacation. And we shouldn't be forced to learn things that will be completely useless later in life. We should choose what we want to know, studies that will be practical for our future career. And mostly, acquire knowledge of the stuff we need, such as staying healthy or finding a job, and paying bills. I'm not saying the school is pointless. I respect our hardworking teachers that would do anything for our success. We need our education. But school can be bullshit sometimes. 

Standing in the bathroom next to the wounded man and my companions, my head started hurting. The smoke was floating around the hallway to the washroom. The shade of the room was blue. The walls were wet from the vapor caused by the burning flowing water. Megane was wiping his bruised skin while I was ready to vomit. I always hated blood. I am intensely afraid of it. Back downstairs, I was drinking some water to clear my throat. The protective woman explained that the boy was her brother. She had multiple injuries on her knuckles from beating up men who dared to touch her precious younger sibling. His name was Andrew. Now, I wasn't used to knowing people like that. It was quite extreme for a first party. And here I thought it would've been an ordinary high school gathering: smoking pot and drinking alcohol between friends. But I got myself into a mess. Two men tried to flirt with me. It wasn't too embarrassing or uncomfortable. They were nice enough and offered me a beer. Here's one thing about me; I will never drink beer unless I'm drunk. The bitter taste of that sparkling drink always made me want to throw up. 

Sitting on the stairs outside, the stars shined bright. I needed air, and so did my friends. We were discussing how we wanted to leave the place so bad. Andrew's sister was nice enough to call us a cab. It was almost 4 A.M, and we could barely keep our eyes open. Our eyelids began to feel heavy as the Indica started to kick. Once the taxi arrived, my comrades couldn't help themselves but laugh with the driver.

Meanwhile, I was looking up at the inky sky. It was raining. I started questioning life. I don't know if it was because I was intoxicated, but those questions that tickled my curiosity began to freak me out a bit. Do you know you're going to die eventually? That scary feeling of not being able to wake up again and everything becomes pitch black? The way you can't breathe anymore, and everyone misses you. That moment of anxiety eats you alive, and you cannot reach your goals because you can't move. You're not of this world anymore. It's probably inhuman to have this mindset but, it reassures me that I'm on the same boat as everyone. That I'm not the only one who is going to lose the ability to breathe one day. We're not invincible, nor immortal. Always I wouldn't say I liked how the saying "we are all on the same boat" exists when we suffer in different ways. Some have better lives; some are richer, etc... We are battling through the same storm, yes, but we certainly are on other boats.

Life brings us as many joyful moments as it does downfalls. Life's journey may not become more manageable as we grow older, but we have to understand it better. Life is cruel, but it is beautiful as well. And we must embrace the positivity it's sending us. Focusing on happy moments and live life to the fullest can change our perspective of the way we think about our existence. To appreciate the positive things in this brutal world, we first need to accept and love ourselves. As hard as it sounds to make it come true, it's the only solution. I always thought about going in front of a mirror and list five things I love most about myself. And as the gorgeous Mae West once said: "You only live once, but if you do it right, then once is enough." 

The rain became more intense. As I decided to open the window, I put half of my upper body outside while waving my arms. I was feeling the cold drops of water rolling down my pastel skin, making my sparkly makeup meltdown my cheeks. It looked like I was crying glitters. It was the most peaceful ride I have ever been on. We were inhaling the fresh breeze of the rainy morning. Emily was smiling, wondering what the hell I was doing. And I remember telling her that instant was the unique moment I felt free and that I escaped reality. Have you escaped reality before? It feels so good. It's a satisfying feeling in your heart that evokes memories of happiness. That same happiness you once had a while ago. And you don't remember how it feels anymore because life becomes darker and darker as you grow older. This is why we need to create joyous moments in our lives. We arrived at Megane's place. We had had a sleepover and walked with extra caution to not wake her parents up. The clock read 4:15 A.M. We entered her messy room, and needless to say, we fell asleep immediately without even changing into our pajamas. 

And this is where it all began; a more exciting life of my own. A reality I mostly wanted to escape. Let me give you a bit of a life lesson despite my young age. That no matter what, I promise you you're not alone and that having seven fucking billion people on this damaged planet while receiving no love is most definitely impossible. That life won't give you freshly bloomed flowers all the time. It will send you multiple storms, and you got to go through those storms to get rainbows and flowers. You'll be able to see what's waiting for you tomorrow. But what if tomorrow starts without you?


	2. C H I L D H O O D

[Song: Eliel - Hammock]

I was five when I started elementary school. Since I'm french, the people from Quebec didn't appreciate my accent. I don't want to shame everyone from Quebec, though. I've got myself some fantastic Quebecois companions, and I love them with all of my heart. They aren't all hurtful. I just wished that city was a bit nicer to me since I was born there. I never asked to be born there. I was very anti-social, so people would push me and wouldn't hear me whine, trying to defend myself. They were calling me contaminated because you only live in muddy fields in France, and you go shit in the most disgusting cabins in your half-demolished garden. What's disturbing is, some people from that province honestly believe my country is all that. No matter when my fingers met another kid's skin, they were screaming or crying because they thought I transmitted some illness. I remember my first-grade teacher judging me continuously and mocking me in front of the other students who already despised me with such a deep passion. And for what? I never knew. Speaking of unpleasant teachers, there was that exceedingly spiteful substitute who looked like a more evil version of Dolores Umbridge from Harry Potter. She would glare at me, giving me the dirtiest looks just by hearing my name. My full name is Messaline. Despite how nice it may sound in your ears, Messaline was an Italian empress who enjoyed playing with men. She bet she could fool around with more men than other women could. They ended up cutting her head off for the sins she committed. Apart from that, I did have a make-out session at age nine with a girl named Léa. She was such a manipulative witch. Every single time school reached its end, she always played with my weak mentality. Forcing me to follow her, or else she would pinch my back. She still dared me to drink the dirty water from puddles or eat random things she would find on the ground. My father loathed her. I was always going to her house after my classes without asking him. What else could my sad little self do? She would hurt me if I didn't listen to her. She had odd ways to play with me, and her reactions didn't add up most of the time. Well, it turned out it was her feelings for me that pushed her to act like an immoral pest. I mean, that girl did call me cute once. How could I not figure out she had a little crush on me? I was nine. I didn't know what homosexuality was. I was utterly ignorant about the whole love thing in general. 

That delinquent of a child dragged me out of school one day. We spent time at the park not too far from our school. There was a small building right behind it. We wasted our time inside as I knew some of the adults working there. My mom is an artist, and she worked there from time to time to decorate and draw. It was the first time I skipped school, and regardless of the fun moments I had with Léa, my parents were not too proud of me. The police were searching for us the whole time. At that young age, you are dumb as fuck. You think you can skip anything, and no one would notice. And if you are like me, no one notices your absence at all, so it makes you want to leave forever. You know, when that girl called Joannie keeps pushing you every day and tells you to get lost, you don't want to be present. Or when Léa steals a lip gloss from another girl and blames it on you, so that girl and the rest of the class detest you even more. You don't want to be present anymore. That same stupid little girl who thought was superior because she was a year older than me. She usually waited at my locker only to pull my long wavy hair daily. She pulled and held it so hard, my back curbed. I looked like Samara from the ring. Waiting for my tears to roll down, she would finally, but violently, let go of me. 

I was walking from school one day. It was peaceful until three boys ran after me and pushed me on the cold gravel. One laughed and suggested we play a game of tag. Confused, I rushed to my house as quickly as possible. But the vicious boy was faster than I. He grabbed a piece of glass on the wet grass next to the sidewalk and grabbed my arm to place the sharp end on my skin. He sliced my shoulder, leaving a bloody scar. He then threw dandelions at me and rubbed one against my wound. They left. I kept running, weeping, and panting. My vision was unclear, and I could barely breathe.

I thank God for having such a better family than my classmates. My sister treated my injury, and I went to watch Naruto as my daily routine. My family and Naruto were the only things I enjoyed in life. People will say anime is annoying, useless, and weird. They then watch the dumbest cartoons ever made and brag about having a grumpy Disney princess whose profile picture for aesthetics. For me, anime teaches about respect and life in such unique ways as some of them are so profound and philosophical. I laugh at the people who assume liking anime is also liking hentai or suppose all of those Japanese series is precisely like Pokemon, Sailor Moon, Dragon Ball, and Naruto. There are so many genres like sport, action, fantasy, a slice of life, realistic, drama, romance, horror, comedy, etc. Or when they say it's for kids. I show them a scene from Attack on Titan, and they immediately shut their traps. Anyway, it's been a while I stopped arguing with ignorant people. I know I took advantage of my parents' soft bed to watch my favorite shows on their mini tv. 

My house was more significant than the majority of my classmates' homes. It was only because it belonged to the church's priest just beside that church was stuck to my house, causing everyone who knew me to mock me. They kept saying I lived in a church. They visited it on their bicycles and yelled my name, threatening me to scare my frail soul. Have I already told you those same children used to call me "Merdaline" or "Messamerde"? Which translates to "Shitaline" and "Messashit''. And yes, even in front of my parents. Their shameless facial expressions compelled me to dislike myself profoundly. That it was okay to call me names because I wasn't like them. The only lovely human being in that school was my third-grade teacher. We shared the same interests. We talked a lot about Jurassic Park and dinosaurs. It's thanks to him that I could run away from Léa's dangerous and disagreeable manners. Other than that, I only had one best friend who didn't share the same school as me. She mostly spoke English. How ironic. It's the English girl that respected me the most. We laughed, we had fun, tragedies happened, we played and kept smiling through some pain until I had to leave for Edmonton. 

Junior High wasn't better. I tried to fit in, but I somehow failed. I was put in a french catholic school full of kids who barely spoke french. The better ones were from Quebec. Speaking of these Quebecois, they're the ones who made everyone in the school turn their backs against me. Some who had crushes on me was too ashamed, so they bullied me instead. Nobody thought I was contaminated, at least. But I was all alone. I only had Emily as my best friend. She often hung out, tried cheap makeup, and always bought those magazines for young teenagers at the local 7-Eleven. Do you know the ones with the Justin Bieber and Miley Cyrus posters? With quizzes that would tell you what type of friend you are and the newest news on the Jonas Brothers? Yes, those colorful and enjoyable magazines. Roller skating around the block was more comfortable than riding a bicycle for me. I always learned the hardest things to do before the easiest, like swinging the jumping rope backward.

Emily and I were inseparable until she moved to Ottawa. I wanted friends; I was a young teenager who lacked love and wanted to belong in a group of friends. But I was being rejected and ignored by everyone. Mocked for nothing, stared at, and judged out loud. When there was a Christmas or Valentine's day ball in the gym, I attempted to dance with my so-called friends. They let me enjoy the pleasant moment to write a post about me on Facebook then. Saying I was a parasite and I was annoying, always following them. I indeed found myself a bit anti-social because of the trauma my elementary school made me go through.

I didn't dare to speak out of fear. I didn't want to be criticized by others. It's fascinating how one's psychology works. For some, once others have hated them for the longest time, their brains give an immediate signal of throwing insults. They are automatically aggressive as an auto defense. Some who suffered from bullying will shut their emotions down as it isn't essential to show how they feel anymore since nobody cares. Or some will be too afraid to interact with anyone again. You don't know how big of a blunder it is to mess with someone else's psychology in such a cruel method. Only because some kids want to feel superior, but you are in school, you shouldn't want to bother others. Just fucking do your work, you piece of shit! I envied so many student's happiness. I was so lonely. I felt sick to my stomach whenever I had to participate in Phys. Ed. I remember telling one of my bullies how they treated another boy to avoid my gym class. I had no business confessing about a problem that didn't involve me. They ended up hating me intensely this time. The idiot in me was desperate to receive appreciation and acceptance. Therefore I begged for a solution to earn their friendship. They suggested I pull the fire alarm. And so I did. My foolish thirteen-year-old self pulled the fire alarm with trembling fingers. I was suspended for a week. The bullying was getting worse and intense afterward, so I had to change school. 

Arrived in High school, I had that one gay friend who turned out to be that sassy homosexual who only cared about being pretty and mean to anyone who isn't considered "fabulous" through society's eyes. But I learned a lot from him. How to interact with people again, how to express my feelings, and how to laugh. To regain trust and love is more challenging than you would think. What is love? Love is strong. You need to love yourself before giving and receiving it. And when I say love, I'm not talking about the romance between two people. I'm talking about love in general. The feeling of being appreciated and comfortable with others, such as friends and family. That same feeling, we need to keep enjoying life. Or else we dive into a vast, gloomy ocean of depression. And that darkness can't be defeated unless you put light into it. 

This is how the darkness in me formed. I was left alone. Me, myself, and I as my friends. Because it's only with yourself that you will end up with before you leave this world. And that was the sad truth I believed for so long. I know what you're telling yourself. What about my family? They are friendly people. They care about me. Despite them forcing me to go to church every Sunday back when I was a little girl, they aren't bad at all.

On the contrary, if they were evil to me, I guarantee you I wouldn't have had the strength to keep living. While my childhood is technically enough for some to abandon life, I was always told I was mentally healthy. But I never thought so. I was easy to manipulate, and I would do anything to earn some disrespectful people's respect... But solitude is the scariest thing in the world. It hurts more than any injuries. This is why some people hurt themselves. To feel something else other than the mental damage. The wound in their hearts can't be compared to any physical harm. You can heal their wounds, but you can't fix their crushed hearts when mental abuse and trauma mangled their souls for so long. Or so I thought...


	3. L O S T  L O V E

[Song: Circular as our way - Hammock]

Depression is like a big block of iron brick that pushes you to stay in one place. A room that makes you feel comfortable and makes you feel home and safe. You don't want to do anything on your days. It's a heavyweight that pulls you to a gloomy, dull place in your life. You don't want to bother anyone, and you don't want to be bothered. It is not the same as sadness, oh no. It's so difficult to explain depression to someone who's never been through that melancholy feeling. Sadness is to cry, not feel good after seeing or hearing about a tragedy, bad news, or watching a sad movie.

Depression is that complete absence of feelings. You are not able to feel normal emotions anymore. Being depressed is to be fearless when it comes to death. But it's to be fearful of only living with yourself forever. People aren't afraid of dying. They're so scared of living. They're so scared they're not going to live their lives to the fullest that they're going to regret not reaching their goals. Because death itself is not that bad once you've grown older, they were an older man or woman. I don't know if you have noticed before, but every old people talk about "it's almost my time" or "I've lived a long life" like death was nothing to them. When a young individual brings up suicide, it's because they have no dreams, no plans, and nothing—just the void. Life told them they aren't worth living for a longer time. You can't just tell someone who has been through trauma to let it go or stop being sad. "It will pass." It's not how it works. Because what is going on in a depressed person's brain is constant guilt, a continuous feeling of failing at everything. The sensation of being worthless. That everyone would be better off without them. You're tired, 24/7. You stop going out, and you control the usual activities you enjoyed so much. You withdraw from your family, friends, and school. 

And what causes depression? Family history, personal problems, trauma, severe medical conditions, and substance abuse are the leading causes. I've known so many people who were depressed because of all the medications they have to take. Some people take anxiety pills or antidepressants, but it drove them to feel worse. The real medicine in life is to go out, find the beauty in this painful existence, and focus on positivity. It's to find a purpose in life. Because it's by staying forever in a bubble that you will fall deeper into the darkness, believe it or not, you are not born for nothing. You didn't ask to be put into this bizarre and crazy world, but you sure weren't conceived for nothing. No matter who makes you feel worthless, bad parents, evil siblings, racist fucks, homophobic pricks, intimidators, cruel teachers, etc. You'll always have that one particular person who will care for you. Because how wonderful is it that the same being who created sunsets, oceans, and galaxies thought the world needed one of you? How cool is it to even exist in such a tricky world to understand yet so beautiful to experience? Jumping off a bridge, shooting yourself, overdosing, or hanging yourself will do nothing but remove the opportunity of getting happy because it does get better. 

It was 2015 and one of the worst years of my life. I didn't feel like going to school. I had practically no friends. Or more like I didn't put any effort into making any. Despite having the best year of my life in grade 11, I still lacked social skills, thanks to my drama class. Grade 12, on the other hand, didn't interest me at all. I used to live in the countryside back then. Nothing but an Equestrian center and a couple of rich neighbors were located. Andrew and I started dating after hanging out during my birthday last summer. But when I came back to Edmonton, we quickly stopped texting each other. It wasn't a serious relationship after all. 

I often walked around the neighborhood during the night since my parents blocked the wifi after 11 o'clock. Taking advantage of the firewood scent felt like I was at a campfire party next to the sea. The sea... I miss going to the sea every single summer in France. I feel home there as the ocean speaks to me. It can be calm, but its waves can rage at any moment. The street lamps brightened the damped road, leaving an opaque luminosity through the darkness of the night. Everything was silent. Not even the wind made the leaves of the forest move. Stars could be seen everywhere in the inky sky, as the surroundings didn't have any buildings nor intense city lights—northern lights formed from time to time. The green dancing gleam shifted from right to left as it continued to move faster.

The night was always my favorite part. It is when I felt alive and free. When I could dream and escape reality. While my cat purred in my ears and hair, I fell asleep peacefully. Peacefully, diving in my warmest dreams. You live in a different world once you dream. I mean, it's incredibly dissimilar from the reality you live in. I always felt like I was happier in my dreams. That's probably why people love to take LSD, mushrooms, or DMT so much. It sends them to hallucinate other dimensions that make them feel like life is more than just working, sleeping, and eating. It ultimately allows them to see it from a different perspective. It removes all types of anxiety. 

Anxiety. I developed that insupportable mental illness not long after—the sudden feeling of not being able to breathe. You could mind your own business, spending a marvelous time with the people you love, and still have your heart racing like a motorcycle at the most random times. And then you start thinking that you're going to die—the fear of losing your life at an early age. Your back and your upper chest hurt, and every time you try to take the deepest breath, you can't seem to succeed. You think your heart will explode right out of your chest, and sometimes, you have to go to the hospital to calm down. 

I was alone at home when suddenly my brain sent an alarming message. That I was going to pass away and never come back. I have never become comatose, but I sure felt like I would fall and never wake up. I immediately dialed 911 and brought an ambulance to my house. The panic in me was decreasing once I knew nurses were coming to take care of my condition. It's funny how anxiety plays with your brain. It's like a little strategic prankster that leads you to think you're going to collapse and quit this world. Then when you fight it with reassurance, it goes away. The ambulance arrived, and the nurses were pleasant to talk with. The ride from my house to the hospital took around thirty-five minutes. I had to wait a couple of minutes before one of the workers called my name.

Meanwhile, an odd patient shifted his eyes towards me before standing up to walk in my direction. I avoided any eye contact as I didn't want any attention from him. He was wearing a ripped, dirty brown coat. It seemed like it was made of leather. His dark blue jeans were also ripped at the bottom, and his black boots smelled like old rubber. His teeth were yellow, and so were the tips of his fingers. The man sounded like he was smoking ten packs of cigarettes per day. It looked like the hat he was wearing was hiding his greasy grey hair. He sat in two chairs beside me, hinting that he noticed how I was uncomfortable with the way he approached my personal space. 

"I will die soon. Not because I want to, but because I didn't take care of myself enough. I let life crush me into pieces. We often see life as a difficult path to walk through. Life is simple, but men make it seem very hard. The way I see it, you have to battle your way through and avoid the obstacles the world is throwing you. Life is like a video game. You have to beat the boss, which is the cruelty existence makes us live sometimes." 

Ok, who sent me a homeless person as my guardian angel? And the way he spoke was astounding. He didn't look like he would say so wisely. His philosophy astonished my curiosity, though. I wanted to hear more about what this older man, full of sorrow, was expressing. What a bizarre way of approaching a stranger. The first thing you hear is, "I will die soon." How frightening. He left soon after his little talk, and the nurse called my name. She mentioned that I shouldn't worry and that I shouldn't have called the ambulance because it would cost me an arm. The way she explained how anxious people react the same made me feel better. I can't control this intolerable nervousness most of the time. And that is entirely normal. There is nothing wrong with that. Once I left the building, my friend Everly texted me to see if I could sleepover at her place. 

Everly, what a wonderful young woman she was. Every time I saw her face, my heart beats increased. It was an utterly different sensation than when my panic attacks occurred. My face instantly turned red whenever she came near me. She was one of the few friends I had in high school. Once at her house, we usually played pillow fight, watched horror movies, and baked some cookies that generally came out overcooked. Her parents weren't aware of our relationship. Well, it's not like we were officially together. This society and the way it sees the love between people of the same gender as abnormal sickens me. Tell me how two women and two men are different from a woman and a man loving each other? Except for the fact that they can't reproduce, there's nothing else. Love is love. It's not a choice because "men are trash. Women are way nicer and better to understand" nor an option because "I can't get any woman. I'm a loser. I'll choose to fuck men instead". It's the heart that wants what it wants. Do you think we would choose to like the same gender when we know we would get bullied or even killed in 60% of the counties around the world? And men, stop saying we didn't experience good dicks, and that is why we switched to licking vaginas. Some of us had sex with all types of men, sucked every shape of penises, and slept around with all the ethnicities of the world, and we still prefer tacos over eggplants. And for you, religious people, you may think it's a sin. But let us live our lives. It doesn't affect yours. Didn't God say love your neighbor as yourself? Move on; we are not in the 1900s anymore. I always thought racist, sexist and homophobic people weren't happy anyway. How can you understand the differences when you can't understand yourself in the first place? How can you accept someone else's happiness if you can't get yours? What is the point of hating on individuals that mind their businesses? So what if some men wear makeup? Or when a woman wears a suit. It's a piece of clothing. Do some people get offended by fabrics? Did you know that high heels were invented for men in the first place, and they often wore that crop tops in the '80s? We should follow Greek mythology and Buddhism a bit more when it comes to homosexuality. 

Everly and I danced to atmospheric, alternative songs under her blue LED lights. She loved to push me on her queen bed and climb on top of me. Reaching her mini shorts' right pocket and grabbing a tiny jar of glitters, she caressed her naked upper body before opening the sparkling pink pot. I placed my cold hands on her stomach and began to rub it. I wanted to grasp her hips and powerfully bring her lips against mine. But her skinny fingers touched my left cheek, and she started dragging her thumb under my eye with delicacy. She then pulled out a mini brush and dipped it in the glitter to lay it out on my pale cheeks. Some fell on my neck, but it added to the aesthetic aspect. She pulled out a pasty purple pencil, removed the lid, and smoothly drew on my face. It tickled. But it felt good as the pencil danced on my skin. A small smile appeared on her gorgeous face, and she finally decided to approach her plumped lips. She smelled like strawberry. Her long shiny hair caressed my arms when her face came closer. We deeply kissed. The jar of sparkles fell on my breast, spreading the glimmers all over me. I had no shirt on. Only a red bra. Her nude figure massaged mine as the flickering makeup was rubbing between our upper bodies. We were kissing passionately; our tongues were fighting for supremacy. Her fragile fingers stroked each of my arms to join my shivering fingers. She grabbed my hands and dragged both of my arms so they could meet above my head. Moaning in the kiss, she slid her tongue on my neck to bite it. And then you know the rest. 

It was 1 A.M. We were relaxing beside her opened window, talking about life. She was the only one who loosened me up. I fell in love with her. And she did as well. Her ocean eyes hypnotized me every single time. With someone so special in your life, you don't feel like you're obligated to be depressed. Those people are like drugs. You need them to feel better. But that is just a toxic way to see things. Either way, Everly was an angel that changed the way I reflected love. I liked holding her tight in my arms while we fell asleep. She was usually worn out before me. I always had to overthink before shutting my eyes, like how she could leave me tomorrow or a week later. I was not used to that type of love. But I was happy. 

A couple of days later, in school, I saw her with a guy. I was sometimes going to school despite my lack of motivation that grew stronger over the year. My heart dropped when they kissed. It's not like we were dating. I think she could not tackle the fact that she was bisexual. Internalized homophobia is the worst. Or sometimes, the people we cherish the most don't like us back. And it's the harsh reality. It's an atrocious feeling that hurts the heart. You feel the blood rapidly flowing down your chest, and it creates a distressing sensation inside. It's easy to say, "there are plenty of other people on earth, you are still young, and you will meet someone who loves you for who you are. Patience is key". But once you move on by going out and spending time with your friends and family, that saying makes more sense, and it doesn't get any closer to the truth. I didn't respect that quote, though... It took me months to recover. I completely stopped going to school, and my thoughts dived into a deep emptiness. I didn't have the guts to tell my family I lost the girl I fell in love with without fear. I didn't want them not to accept me anymore. So I kept inventing dumb lies to excuse my behavior and decisions. All I did was watch anime daily. I remember wanting the purple pentagram Sebastian from Black Butler had on his left hand. My father was furious about it. But it was only my seventeen-year-old immature self who wanted to get a tattoo from my favorite show. There's nothing wrong with that. Though, I thank my old man for refusing such an unthinkable decision, or else I wouldn't have a job today. 

I often whined about the sad life I had in high school, though I know many other kids had it way worse. My oldest sister, Mathilde, a teacher, had a student who directly came from Africa. He had PTSD caused by the assassination of his parents. They were killed before his shivering, wet eyes. He was devoured by depression and had an excellent reason not to be able to concentrate in school. I pitied him. I always wondered why the world could be so immoral and wrong. But then I saw his smile; I saw how life could get better no matter how long and how much you suffer. Therefore, I had faith in life and the future that awaited me. 

My last year of high school was somewhat tranquil and burdensome at the same time. But at least I tried to avoid the obstacles life tried to hurl at me like that older man mentioned. Breakups and heartbreaks will happen. Fake people are always around the corner, so we ought to be careful and be attentive to who we meet. But keep in mind that no matter what happens in your life, get back up. You need to get back on your feet and defeat what pulls you down. Because it's only with confidence and positivity, you will see a purpose again.


	4. H A P P I E R

[Song: Younger - Tony Anderson] 

After a long period of depression, I decided to apply to a private college situated downtown. And here I was, in college. Who would have known that I would go to school again after graduation? Plus, I was sure never to get accepted, but the director and professor were astonished by my portfolio to my big surprise. It was not like any other college, though. I decided to study 2D animation and illustration. I have always been into art. I often edit videos and draw. I met incredible people there. I quickly got attached to my classmates. And for the first time, they all accepted me. That place built my confidence and happiness. We first learned how to doodle on photoshop. Kevin, the best teacher I have ever had, taught us how to color objects realistically. 

Vivian was the closest friend I had in my class until Indy came into my life. I mean, she and I still had a strong friendship. He was in the 3D course, which was next to mine. The first time my eyes met his, they were sparkling. His beautiful brown eyes looked back at me as he didn't think anything about me yet. His french accent sent shivers down my spine, even though I am french myself. He was slightly taller than me, brown hair with a stubble beard, glasses, and very elegant.

One evening, Vivan and Haliuna invited us to watch V for Vendetta and the second movie of The Conjuring together. I could see they were planning on letting Indy and me alone on their colossal couch. As their wish, the plan succeeded since we turned out to be cuddling the whole time. We could say we had an adorable evening date. Both of our classes had a Halloween party the next evening. A couple of students were in charge of the food and alcohol, another bunch bought the lights, and another girl brought a horror movie. The best part was that we could host the party in our college. Since we each had our key-cards, the school was accessible at any time. We could stay until 1 A.M if we wanted. The college was in an immense structure called the empire building. We had to take the elevator to the tenth floor. Glassed doors were situated right in front of the elevator as we could see the inside without entering the school. A couch and a mini table were on the right side once you set foot in the place. On the left, there was an audio class. A bit further in front of the glassed doors, big tv and a kitchen counter were followed by a water fountain next to the sink. They had a giant Sully from Monster Inc. statue with soft blue hair sticking out his skin. Offices were found in the hallway on the right. As soon as you turned left, you could see the 3D classroom beside the principal's office. As you continued to walk down the corridor, a computer lab could be seen on the left, and my 2D class was at the very end. 

As soon as the party started, shimmering green lights glinted on the white walls. People were eating the chips that easily cracked under their teeth. Crumbs were on the floor as the television light illuminated its surface. Some students were around the table playing board games. I was on the couch with Indy. My legs lay down his thighs. It was so obvious I liked him. People often came toward us to tease us. The fact that we were always together given some hints to our friends. It was 10 P.M and my new close friend, and I concluded to go outside and go on a night stroll. The streets were purple, and mists made the atmosphere slightly opaque as the fog had a fainted pink tint. The city lights improved the rosy shade. Every ad on signs was lit with blue and white LED lights. It was moderately raining. The shower shone on the toned roads. 

It was easy to fall in love with me. It's like I was desperate for appreciation because I lacked affection. The scariest part is that I never noticed until recently. It's not that I had found someone as quick as I could, even if they're ugly. But I desired someone's strong arms to wrap around my chest. Someone's warm lips on mine. Or even just someone I could talk to regularly so I couldn't feel alone. So I could fit in with society. The fact that many women my age were dating or engaged and happy made me envy that lifestyle. And it happened so fast... Maybe too fast. I was 19, but still young and dumb. I didn't know shit. Love was still new to me. However, it felt good when I was with him. We went to buy Chinese food, and we kept strolling around downtown. It was a chilly night, but our fondness kept us warm. 

Vivan, Haliuna, Indy, and I went to Jasper for a day. Hiking sounded restful as we relaxed along a river. Drawing the surroundings, we perceived mountains that resembled portraits. The trees seemed drawn. It was so big it looked like a massive painting before our eyes. I think that's what humans usually imagine when something so big happens. It has to be fake. Like the love, I could share with Indy at that moment. Indy was meditating on the top of rocks above us. The silence of the night complimented the obscurity nature offered us. The stars brightened the environment. We went to eat at a pizzeria in Jasper downtown. We enjoyed our journey, but we had to head back. As the two girls were sleeping in the back of Indy's car, he put on some indie songs while I floated my right arm out of the window, pretending it was a wave flying in the air. 

When Indy brought me back home, I couldn't fall asleep. You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams. Unfortunately, he started to ignore me. I sent him multiple texts, but he paid no attention to them. I began to think I made a mistake as I couldn't cease to ponder the way of how and where I messed up. He eventually messaged me back at the end of the week. Only to tell me he wasn't ready for a relationship, though. And that he was sorry if he sent mixed signals. My heart didn't feel right, although the words that came out of my shivering mouth said otherwise. I wanted to cry, but I didn't. My brother was visiting us, and I couldn't let my tears ruin the moment. 

Out of sadness, I called some high school friends to hang out at a bar. They dared me to take some shots of pure tequila. We ate nachos and headed to Javy's house. We chatted around a plastic table in his garden, waiting for the pizza we ordered. Then, we decided to play a drinking game. He had a soccer table. Every time my team scored, the opposite team had to drink a beer or chug a gin bottle, vise versa. I ended up mixing too much alcohol in my system, I puked all over the place, and drunk texted Indy, who didn't reply at the time. I couldn't even put the tip of my slice of pizza on my tongue, or I'd be disgusted, and I would throw up in an instant.   
Thank God Javy took care of me. I will always consider him one of the best friends I ever had.

Several days later, Indy asked me to join him at his bus stop. It was a usual routine as best friends, and we habitually hugged before he entered the bus. We wistfully put an end to that routine until he questioned me about the hug. He was a bit sad that I didn't wrap my arms around his body. I was quite puzzled at first, but I immediately understood when he texted, "Do you want to hang out tomorrow night?". A merry feeling formed inside my chest, creating tears in my eyes. I knew he would ask me out that evening. We spent the entire night watching Cowboy Bebop. Our building had showers in the basement, so we took the keys and rushed downstairs. As we opened the door, we undressed and studied our bodies for the first time. His strong hands landed on my fragile skin as they began to caress my waist. While we were intensely observing each other, he turned the shower handle behind him. The warm liquid ran down our hair, wetting our bodies. He placed his right hand on my left cheek and put his thumb on my lips. We kissed under the flowing water. Days passed, and one of our friends, Sunny, threw a birthday party. We played a Naruto Shippuden fighting game and ate cake the whole evening. In short, we had a couple of good times, and I met his parents for the first time. They were friendly people as they prepared diner for us. His mother was sweet. She said middle easterners were usually very beautiful. She noticed my Mediterranean looks right away. My mother is Lebanese, and a wonderful French couple adopted her. Alas, I cannot speak Arabic. 

I had the best year of my life. Fun moments happened more than unfortunate ones. One day after school, I learned about Adobe After Effects, and Indy went into my class to ask me to join him at the bus stop. I kindly told him I had to focus on my work. He warmly accepted my excuse, and Kevin congratulated me, saying, "Good job Messa! Boys leave you. After Effects never does!". And as soon as he mentioned that phrase, the program crashed. What were you saying, Kevin? We had a good laugh. Kevin. I adored that prof. I was helping a student back then with emotional problems. And I recall Kevin telling me that I reminded him of himself once it came to helping others. I would get anxious for that friend. Indy disliked the way I made myself sick for him, though. I had no feelings for the guy whatsoever. And he was gay anyway. 

I am grateful for everyone that made my life a happy one. I will never forget that 2D animation class. I'm glad that year occurred because I was in my darkest place a year before. Going out and making new friends. Having a social life. All that made it better. Trust me, it does. And so what my tuition cost an arm? I'm living my life to the fullest, and nothing can stop me from doing so. I was happy... I wish Charles were. 

Oh yea, Charles is my brother. Remember when I said he came to visit? It was for new years. I was waiting for Indy to pick me up and watch the fireworks downtown. I don't know what triggered the sadistic situation, but my brother was crying in the bathroom. He was talking about suicide. I guess there was nothing that set off that dark mood. He just felt that way. People that want to kill themselves have those random waves of extreme depression episodes. When he eventually left the bathroom, he was still sobbing. Shedding tears non-stop, it made me ruin my makeup in a second. I wailed as I sprinted towards his aching soul. I held him very tight, ensuring he understood that I didn't want him to leave us. He stopped crying and dried his tears as he hugged me back. Did you know that hugs mentally help? It may seem like nothing, but it does calm someone who suffers. Once they left, I washed my face and put makeup on again. 

Looking in the mirror, I thought profoundly about what just happened. We often say cancer is the worst illness, the worst killer. I agree cancer is a bitch, but... depression is a cunt. Depression has removed all of our loved ones by tempting them to take the most problematic drugs or to end themselves without any of us to understand why they left. I know that you can be happy again. That you can enjoy every single moment, you live. Please, live your life to the fullest. You don't know what you're missing. I know for a fact that there are people who love you. Don't lie. Don't lie to yourself, saying you're worthless and can't please anyone. That is the biggest lie I've ever heard in my life. I am speaking to every person who can't bear to see they made it through another night in their room. Who can't take to see someone else's happiness, thinking they would never deserve such beautiful sentiments. Who are you to judge yourself anyway? Life does that to you. I know. Do you know what else life does, though? It allows you to live with faith. Only society makes it sound not very easy. Not listening to the community is not a crime. Go ahead, enjoy what beautiful wonders life is capable of gifting your broken soul. It will heal sooner than you think. And make the people who made you suffer know that you're standing firm and happy now. Nothing demolishes them more than that.


	5. F A R E W E L L

[Song: Now and not yet - Hammock]

Right when I thought life could never be sorrowful again. 2018 will forever be the worst year of my life. I will always remember what destroyed the joy in me. I want to share something personal (and it should go for everyone else) with me. When you appreciate and enjoy the company of a person you love, spend time with them, be nice, and tell them you love them. You never know when they will leave and disappear for eternity. It can happen in an instant. And that instant can emotionally injure your soul in a way you can never imagine. Like your heart is sinking in your blood. It drops down as a cold feeling goes up your chest, creating an uneasy sensation that obligates your tears to roll down your cheeks. 

My sister, Rachel, and I visited my brother Charles to hang out and watch Breaking Bad. He lived with roommates in a white house down a peaceful neighborhood. He had his room but no windows. It didn't change the fact that it was cozy, and we could all fit on his bed to watch tv together. Charles wasn't too happy. His childhood was the same as mine, but the kids he met introduced him to drugs that always ruined his life. In his teenage years, he would smoke crack on the balcony. As the metallic crayon's scent smelled like bleach, he could smoke it without my parents being suspicious. But there was a day where he suffered quite a bit. He could hardly move with his aching legs. Cramps invaded his calves.

Despite the fear of hospitals my brother had, my father had to call nurses. They came into the house and told my sister Mathilde to pour water into a glass and add salt. While he drank the disgusting beverage, two workers pushed on his legs. Thus, my parents knew exactly what happened. They wanted my poor brother to go to rehab, which the rehabilitation center declined. They diagnosed no odd behavior. However, Charles could be violent towards the furniture of the house whenever one little inconvenient thing occurred. It was the short and sad life my brother lived. He needed help more than anybody I ever met. We offered him support, but nothing is more potent than a depressed person who lacks interest in getting any help. How many times did he tell us he was clean when in reality, he was acting up? Drugs can be used by one individual but can destroy many people around them. It is the same when it comes to depression. We went to the restaurant together the day after. We had a joyful evening. I think if we assemble all the little festive things in life, we get memorable moments. And it turns into one significant memory we never want to forget.

Months past and my relationship started to fall apart as Indy didn't feel the same as when he met me back in college. I also moved downtown with a roommate. I was living a better life in the city despite all the bad news capturing me. I sometimes spent time with my family in the country, and I came that one weekend to hang out with my sister. At the moment, my father was working for the government, so his weekends were usually occupied. While my little sister, Delphine, and I discussed it in her room, the phone rang. My mom picked it up as Delphine, and I kept chatting on her bed, bored as ever. A couple of seconds past and we heard my mom's panicked voice. At first, we thought she was exaggerating and overreacting as usual. 

"What is it about again..."

We were wondering. Yet, she began to weep, and that is when we started worrying about her attitude. She rushed in Delphine's room in tears to inform us that my uncle was deceased. My uncle, who I visited every summer in France. My eyes exploded with tears, and we all sprinted towards my oldest sister's room to apprise her of the bad news. My oldest sister, who unfortunately was calling my dad, was about to tell him his brother lost his life. As we were outside, Mathilde informed my father about the heart-wrenching news. My mother, Delphine, and I stood by the car, waiting for the call to end. Imagine you mind your own business, hard-working at your job, and you receive a painful call about one of your siblings' death. We took the road towards the government. Once we were there, my dad was already waiting for us, standing with sorrow and bag in his shaking hand. We all ran to him and tightly squeezed each other. It was the first time I perceived my dad's wail. It broke my heart. Before this heart-shattering news, my father had a car accident. His insurance gave him seven thousand dollars, which he believed was inkling him that terrible news would happen, and that money would be a significant advantage for the future.

Death. We are never ready for it as it is scary. The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A human who lives fully is prepared to die at any time. Unless their depression takes over, and it is said that your life flashes before your eyes right before you pass. So why do people want to have the memories that made them suffer flashing before their eyes before their existence turn off? Why not creating jolly moments, which will eventually develop their happiness? Simply because they know it will all be over anyway. That is all they want. My father bought a flight ticket with the insurance money and went to France for his brother's funerals. Indy eventually broke up with me. Plus, I had a struggle finding a new job. 

It was the beginning of new adventures for me. A friend of mine named Ali recently put an end to his relationship as well. As he was depressed about it, he explained how toxic relationships shouldn't exist only because we're physically attracted to the person. I agreed on it, yet I still had my heart broken and wished for him to come back. Since I lived downtown, it was easy for us to party in clubs and bars together. I met many old friends again, such as Felix. I spent my nights drinking and trying to forget about Indy. At least I didn't feel alone as I wasn't the only heartbroken person in the club. I learned to be more confident, danced in public, and most importantly, I had fun as I lived my life to the fullest. We were waiting in line one night, sharing a joint (it is legal in Canada) with strangers. I met a beautiful woman waiting to enter the night club. I ditched my friends for her because she grabbed my arm and hauled me on the dance floor to bust some moves with me.

I think she was already under the influence of alcohol, which amused Ali and Felix. They observed us as they were happy for me, forgetting about all of my problems. The blue lights danced on our skins, leaving the gleaming sparkle on the floor. Felix joined us, and Ali recorded the joyful event. I filmed some scenes and put them on my Snapchat, which sought Indy's attention. He loathed the way I had found happiness without including him in the cause. Indeed, I couldn't be happy without the man when we were dating, which wasn't real love. It would be best if you were happy with yourself before engaging in a relationship, or else it can become toxic and obnoxious. 

Two months passed, and my brother spent some nights at my parents' who recently returned to the city. He was planning to move to Victoria island soon as it was one of his favorite places on earth. One afternoon, Delphine and I watched a movie when Charles came to me and showed up his cracked pencil. It provoked a feeling of panic inside me. I ought to tell my parents. And when I did, I regretted it straight away. My sister and I hid in her room while my frustrated father shouted at my brother, threatening him to call the police and a rehabilitation center. Charles was afraid and menaced my parents he would run away and never come back. He lived in the streets by choice, as he felt another level of empathy for the homeless people. And he informed us he wouldn't be bothered to go back to that lifestyle. A few minutes passed, and I received a text from him, hinting that I wasn't his sister anymore, that he would never speak to me ever again, and that he despised me. Out of tears, I asked my dad to drive me back to my apartment. 

I called Ali to hang out again since I felt like shit. He brought a couple of shots, and we drank together. We went to the same bar located on Whyte Ave. A sort of mini downtown with a European aesthetic style. It's exceptionally crowded on Saturday nights. Ali introduced me to a new friend named Moussa. Since Felix went back to Ottawa, Moussa replaced him as we three continually hung out together. We spent time in a small room, playing pool in my apartment building. I remember an agreed man entered the building and hit the elevator door before howling many cursed words. It astonished Ali, but Moussa and I giggled. A downtown is a strange place. All the junkies stay between the outside doors and inside doors of apartments and ask for drugs whenever they enter the building. Fortunately, we have keys, and the doors are unbreakable unless you have a bulldozer and drive right into the glass doors. 

Many days passed, and I get a text from my brother apologizing. That he wants to get helped and don't want to touch hard drugs anymore. I reassured him that I will always be there for him, and I talked about one of his favorite rappers, Eminem, how he stopped hard drugs and came back to his senses. It motivated him as he cried. He was a very fragile man; society ruined his psychology. For example, one day, he was about to rent a house with his so-called "friend." The individual drove, and my Charles went into the house to talk to the landlord.

Meanwhile, the delinquent friend sneaked and took my brother's money. He had a total of ten thousand dollars in his wallet. The police didn't do shit about it. Every single people he met tricked him. It shattered my heart how people can be so cruel to naive, broken souls. You're supposed to be kind to those depressed people. 

"I love you, Messaline. I will always protect you. I even cried, telling mom and dad that they would find my corpse in the morning, and I ran into mom's arms, weeping. I'm tired of life. All the things I told you aren't true. I am so sorry. I prayed to our uncle to help me tonight." 

These words haunt me to this day. He believed that after death, there is still life. That the void doesn't exist. Which is the meaning of one of the tattoos I decided to get not long before—a dolphin. In Greek mythology, it means to be reborn. I always believed in reincarnation. Charles and I never thought darkness and silence would conquer us after one's life cease to exist that we all have a second chance. We texted every day after his departure in British Columbia. We shared songs and hilarious videos. But days and days passed, and my brother stopped giving news to me, nor the rest of the family. Until the police phoned us to inform us that my brother collapsed and overdosed, all alone, in the streets. Screaming for help as he didn't feel his legs anymore. I painfully screamed. I couldn't believe it. I thought it was some sick joke. He stopped texting and calling us to die in peace. A long term suicide. A very, very, very long journey of sufferance. He was never happy. Dying... is this what he meant when he promised me he would always protect me? I now get scared whenever the house phone rings. I'm afraid it will be the police again saying that a member of my family died.

The next night, I couldn't fall asleep. Anxiety took over my body as I couldn't control my breathing. I was hyperventilating, and I thought I was indeed going to die. My mom brought me to the hospital, which I waited a total of six hours suffocating in the emergency room. I understand the physically injured patients are more critical, but I was looking like I was dying. I finally had assistance. I took a blood test, a heart test, and I rested. I haven't slept for twenty-four hours, and I was about to faint many times. I looked for help as I didn't mind entering any office rooms in search of a nurse. Nothing but a short-tempered therapist. They finally gave me Ativan. A strong medication against anxiety attacks that you put under your tongue to dissolve. The pill can only be taken when an intense panic attack occurs because it decreases the heartbeats. If two are taken, an overdose can quickly happen. Especially when you are not in the middle of an attack. 

We went to my brother's funeral, and we kept his ashes. It was hard not to cry in front of everybody. I never attended a funeral in my life. Let alone a loved one's funeral. My heart was aching. I wouldn't say I liked that sensation that I sometimes still feel.

To change my mind, I hung out at Moussa's house a lot with Ali. We played some rap music, and Moussa played piano. These two boys brought more joy to my life. They were cool friends. But Ali's presence faded as he met a new girl and fell in love with her. Then Moussa started dating too. My little sister and father went to France for two months to change their minds and keep my grandma company. My mom and I were alone for Christmas. Although we spent a perfect winter together by going to Christmas parties and spent time with our friends, I had to comfort her most of the time because she cried daily. It's normal, though. I can't imagine losing a son. They're not supposed to die before you. It's not how it's supposed to happen as it is a heavyweight to carry. We spent our time playing games on messenger, and we hosted a mini party for New Years'. A friend of my parents invited us for diner on Christmas Eve. They have invited another friend and his wife as well. We smoked pot in the basement, and we played some games while my mom hung out with her friend. Smoking made me feel closer to my brother as he enjoyed smoking weed. I always think of him when I light a blunt. 

I had happy moments, but I didn't know if I would ever feel comfortable in general again. That winter, I also learned that Indy fell in love with a woman he told me to never worry about. But the sorrow that hid in me blocked all kinds of emotions. Like I was emotionless. Like everything that happened this year exhausted my soul to the point I didn't want to enjoy life again. Is this how real depression feels like? So now I understand why some people don't want to seek help. The weight on my chest was too much. The spirit in me was crying out for help. Howling out of agony, another anxiety attack occurred. Or so I thought. My brain tricked me into thinking I couldn't breathe again. I took one pill, and I felt my heartbeats decreasing as I couldn't move nor panic. I let a tear escape my right eye.

Thinking I was going to pass away, I closed my eyes and accepted my fate. But I was howling on the inside; I wasn't ready to go... The next day I woke up from a very long, restful night. I stared at my bottle of Ativan, glad that it was the last pill I had. I will never get prescriptions for this dangerous medication again. I thought I was dying. From then, I only trusted weed to calm myself. To that day, I still trust pot, even though I don't smoke it too often. I learned some techniques on controlling anxiety attacks, so I don't rely on smoking since it's still bad for your lungs. 

2019 was about to begin, but I couldn't care less about the whole "new year, new me" bullshit. All I wanted was my happiness back. And I had to learn how to get it without relying on anybody else but myself, nor relying on substances.


	6. D E A R  N O R B E R T

[Song: Sometimes - Goldmund]

On a sunny day in spring 1968, a baby was born. An infant that could have had an extraordinary life. Like any newborn. Both of his parents held him with tenderness and comfort. Their one-year-old son had a little brother to play with. Their lives were filled with plenty of happiness. 

Ten years later, as the sunrise shined, a ten-year-old boy entered his house. Crossing the threshold, he tried his hardest not to make the slightest noise. As he hastened back to his room, but his mother caught him. She would yell and whisper at the same time to not wake the rest of the family up. "Norbert, what are we going to do with you?" She would say in a joking way. Norbert liked going out at four in the morning to contemplate the view of Tunisia. His father worked for the military. Thus the whole family would travel around the world. It was six in the morning, and the little boy strolled back to his room that he shared with his big brother, Patrick. They both enjoyed telling each other's stories and pulling pranks on their old neighbor. Every time he passed under their balcony, they would throw yogurt on the poor man, laughing until their mom pulled both of their ears out of anger. My father and uncle were the best of friends. Both were intensely giggling and laughing together, even during the worst of times. Chortling at their pranks, they pulled on each other such as hurling a towel full of poop in their faces. They were truly living their lives to the fullest, even though their strict father often punished them. You know, the feeling of euphoria you can get once you don't care about what happens next. Because that is true happiness; being careless. 

It was time to eat, and the two children rushed to the table. As they were peacefully eating the delicious Mediterranean dish their mother made, the dad was not impressed by Norbert sneaking out of the house that early without alerting anyone. The discussion soon turned into a fight. The furious man became scarier as Norbert was too afraid to continue arguing. The latter ceased to make any sound. Unfortunately, it did not stop his father to stand up and grab his frail arm to drag him to his office. He stared at his father's pale eyes until he couldn't hold back the tears that were fighting to escape. Norbert tried to place a word, but his lips trembled excessively, causing a deep silence before the older man pulled his belt to hit the weak boy. As this event wasn't rare to occur, Patrick and his mother kept eating while the youngest was being punished. 

The brothers would go to the beach, observing the calm water after a hard day at home. Norbert and Patrick were happy siblings. They were always supporting each other. A couple of years later, when they were fourteen and fifteen years old, they made some friends in Isreal. A Jewish, a Christian, and a Muslim. All three were best friends, sharing fun memories in the middle of a war that occurred. It's funny how humanity becomes one when we are all in the same filthy boat. When others die or even suffer. When they are afraid, their conflicts with other religions and races or ethnicities disappear. It's like humans need other humans to find that comfort and reason to live. No matter how different they are from them. My father, Patrick, often strolled in the most impoverished streets of Isreal. They were perceiving many starving children and wailing mothers who tightly held their deceased infants. It pained him to see the number of people who lived in a dirty world like this one. There is no right level of pain that can define someone's depression. No matter who you are; an ex-soldier that shot himself for the wrong acts he committed, an individual who struggled with racism or their sexual orientation, someone who got bullied their whole life and couldn't handle the agony, a drug addict who can't find their happiness and the sense of reality anymore, or someone who lost everything because of a war. Sufferance is suffering. And that is what reality woefully offers us. 

It was summer 1984 as Patrick and Norbert were getting ready to play a mini-match of tenis together. My grandma was tranquil, reading a magazine on her couch while my grandpa was working. As the siblings ran towards the tennis court, the sun shined on their already sweating skins. After playing an intense game, they decided to play at the local arcade. Exchanging loud laughs, they tried to beat each other on every single match as the pink and purple LED lights brightened the room. Once they came back home, they saw their helpless mother on the ground, having a seizure. Patrick panicked, but it didn't stop him from dialing 112 (the number to call an ambulance in France). Norbert was staring at the shivering body, feeling anxiety tightening his chest. He was crying out of fear as he froze. He couldn't move. 

"If you called an hour later, she would've been dead."

Those words loudly echoed in my father's and uncle's ears. They saved my grandma. As Norbert talked to Patrick, he informed him that if their mother died, they had to count on each other for moral support and take care of the funerals. Norbert was always a little bit more sensitive than Patrick. After all, his father kept treating both of them like shit. It weakened his psychology. However, Patrick became stronger. This is when the saying "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" makes sense. But there is another side of this quote: "what doesn't kill you now will eventually kill you." Which was the case for Norbert. My grandfather frequently told my uncle that he was fat, even though he was skinnier than the skinniest man you've ever met. He kept starving himself and making himself throw up every time he ate a full meal. Let me tell you; it was exceptional when he ate one. 

At age twenty-one, he got married to a beautiful Asian woman. But his father disapproved as he was racist. Pushing him to divorce the poor lady, he began to threaten him. Which forced Norbert to lose his shit and hit the woman he loved. He left her as she was expecting a baby. My uncle never got to see that girl again, neither did he get a single chance to meet his daughter or son. Psychology ruined, he stayed at my grandmother's house for the rest of his life. Not capable of getting another woman as he lost the one he fell in love with. At the same time, my father got married to my Lebanese mother. My grandfather disapproved, but my dad didn't want to be involved with him anymore. He left for Canada in 1994 with two daughters and a son, without owning enough money. They lived poorly until they earned enough and had their first decent house. Then I was born, and we lived happily. 

My uncle had a fun and cruel life. My dad had the same treatment. We all react differently to how others treat us. You choose to be weaker, or you decide to be healthier. The thing is, once you're more fragile, you tend to throw automatic insults you don't mean out of pain and fear to get mistreated more. In spring 2018, my dad received a call from my uncle and grandma. I wasn't at their place back then, but both ended up mentally abusing my father, saying he left France like a wuss and abandoned my uncle, who needed moral support. My dad sobbed. He often cried that year. Two months later, after calling my dad again and laugh together for one last time, he went for a run. He died all alone in a hidden street next to a park. My grandma and father took care of his funeral. How ironic, Norbert said it would be him and my dad who would take care of my grandmother's funeral. Unfortunately, we can't change how life turns out. 

Dear Norbert, I know you suffered. As I can't relate to the amount of agony you bore, I know that one thing is sure: People loved you, and we were happy to have you among us. Norbert, you're at peace now and don't forget, you will always have a special place in everyone's heart.


	7. D E A R C H A R L E S

[Song: Mono no Aware - Hammock] 

Drugs; but not the mild ones. The hard, addictive, and repulsive ones. My brother was an appeased child as he had an average, happy family. I never got to see him as a small kid. Running and bursting with laughter and positive energy. Every place he stepped foot in that energy followed him. But after I was born for as long as I could remember, I saw him in a destructive mood—a dreadful frame of mind with an awful temper. Charles needed medication, ones he didn't relish taking. He loathed hospitals as they made him uncomfortable and on edge. The boy needed help. But how could we heal a man who didn't want it? 

Only weed could serve him. Let me tell you; I'd prefer cannabis over alcohol any day but because he smoked it to heal all of his emotional pain, it was hard. He wasn't able to find his purpose in life. Not what his goal was or the career he wanted. He only felt like a failure. As many think, they don't serve any purpose because they feel they couldn't reach their life goal. Yes, it's an excellent feeling to know what you've always wanted to be. However, after a while, how do you feel? Is that it? You have what you wanted. You reached your goal, but you don't feel different. That's when I knew most people were wrong. Finding your spark is not your purpose; you desire to be alive. We often try to find meaning in life in big things like money, big houses, and profitable careers. But the truth is, life is just the more significant part of the smaller things we appreciate. Though, sometimes we forget about that as we become lost as an adult. Life is not about the destination; it' about the journey. 

I once walked out of my room, which was dwelled right in front of my brother's. As I put one foot in front of the other and repeated the movement, I saw him on his balcony. The door was wide opened. He gradually turned his head towards me, and our eyes met. As he was lighting a giant metallic-looking pencil, he slowly put his index on his mouth. It smelled like bleach. My seven-year-old brain couldn't comprehend the situation at the time, but he was smoking crack. Lines of cocaine on a glass table of a party, he snored every single line he prepared. Pink and purple LED lights danced on his skin as it made the same movements on the walls. He closed his eyes as he took a deep breath. He kept it in his lungs for a couple of seconds before exhaling. His lips curved into a broad smile, and a euphoric laugh escaped his throat. As he lifted his arms on both of his sides, Charles giggled and smirked at the ceiling. Pretending the purple and pink lights were the colors of an evening sky, he kept laughing at what he was seeing. His throat and tongue became numb as his heart rate increased. Charles stayed in the moment, fixing the ceiling until he lazily put his arms back on his trembling legs. His lower eyelid twitched a bit, and he kept that broad smile on his face.

A beautiful feeling traveled to his brain, heartbeat decreasing. He inhaled and exhaled deeply as his head started to feel light. He could feel a sense of seclusion. Cocaine arouses the brain in the same way that a real accomplishment does, creating a rewarding feeling, which is the main reason why people want to get high on that drug over and over again. Depressed people never felt they accomplished anything in their lives because nobody congratulated them or made them feel confident and worthy of something. But those unpleasant emotions didn't exist whenever Charles escaped reality.. Everything was silent around the damaged man, as the gestures around him moved faster and faster. But everything felt slower at the same time. 

The next day, Charles got the worst cramps of his life. He felt nauseous, and his head spun. Hearing him screaming out of agony mentally destroyed me. I was downstairs, hiding and crying in my dad's office while the nurses came to assist him. A glass of salted water was very much needed. He drank the disgusting drink as it helped the pain in his calves. One of the nurses pushed my brother's legs towards his lying, sore body. After two hours of him fighting against the nurses to put him in the ambulance, the soreness of his numb legs disappeared. The workers were able to take some of his blood as they informed my parents he consumed drugs the night before. They decided to put him into rehab. But rehabilitation doesn't lock anyone up unless it's their own decision. Thus, Charles never sought support, nor did he care that the substances he was taking were deadly. Death didn't frighten him. 

A couple of years later, we moved to Edmonton, Alberta. His life worsened as he preferred Quebec more. I always said that living in a place you identify with keeps you happier. It's essential for your mental health. Walking in the bright streets of Whyte Avenue, drops of rain left the roads to shine. The atmosphere of the night was entirely aesthetic. Charles was walking home from his new cooking job. But as soon as he stepped foot on the road to cross it, a distracted driver hit him. He didn't notice the red light, which caused him to crash my brother. His body rolled on top of the front of the grey car as his head violently hit and broke the glass, leaving a thick drop of blood on his forehead, traveling down his pale skin. Panicked, people around called the ambulance. His left foot was hanging. When I visited him at the hospital, he couldn't stop yelling that he was sore, which was haunting for my thirteen-year-old self. He repeatedly screamed he didn't want to feel the pain anymore, demanding more morphine in his veins.

A couple of days passed, and he was no longer sore. As we visited him regularly, we strolled around the building, contemplating the aquarium in the mini library the hospital had. I noticed some of the sicker kids, realizing at that moment, most of us are lucky to live under a roof, eating warm food, with no illnesses and we should acknowledge it and be grateful. People see the pain in different ways, but I still feel someone has it worse. Who am I kidding? I don't know everyone's stories. I can't judge, nor am I, Mother Teresa or Gandhi. All I know is that everything you are looking for might already be in front of you. So enjoy what you have now. You could be losing everything tomorrow. Life can remove everything you love in an instant. Looking at my brother in a wheelchair, smiling at the multicolored fish swimming across the aquarium made me feel at ease. It's the little things that make you happy in life. Enjoying and living it to the fullest might have been the best decision and lesson of life I have ever taken. Because you live only once, and you have to take advantage of it. 

Charles had many friends in his life, but I wouldn't call them real friends. They soon abandoned him instead of trying to help. At the same time, I don't blame them. When you build your own life, the bad influences that were part of it must go. Every time we tried to help him, he chose violence. Only professionals could help his lost soul. I believe his accident was a warning. The nurses told him he was fortunate to have survived. It was a wake-up call. But depression is more substantial than we think, as my brother couldn't stop taking drugs and being unhappy. He regularly called for money, and every single time he would call, it would mean bad news. Charles enjoyed life in the streets. He would voluntarily sleep as a homeless man even though he had a room in our house. His sensitivity turned him into an empathetic man. He was sobbing over every disaster that ever happened in this cruel world. After he moved to Victoria Island, British Columbia, he stopped texting and calling us. Two weeks later, he was slowly walking towards the pacific ocean in pain. His left arm felt numb as he felt a heavy pressure on his chest. The latter left himself fall on the soft brown sand. The morning sun brightened the rosy water of the sea. Lightening his pale skin, his sparkling diseased complexion became more and more alarming. But all of a sudden, his heart stopped beating as he accepted his fate. Even though he wanted to help himself, it was too late. 

After his death, we all asked ourselves what we could have done better for our Charles... Is he at peace now? Is he not suffering anymore?

Dear Charles, you were loved. I know you didn't have a comfortable life. You disliked who you became, and you despised the fact that you weren't "normal." If only your destiny were brighter and less sad. We would have laughed way more, like back then when we were watching silly movies and shows. I know that you could have been happy without drugs. You met the wrong people, and they forced you to take these substances because they said it would heal your soul. Life is hard, I understand completely. Don't worry; we will see each other again. And I will always keep those words in my heart: "I will always protect you, Messa." Because I know you're near me, and you are not dead as long as you are not forgotten.


	8. N E W L I F E

[Song: Then the quiet explosion - Hammock]

Life, existence, death, reality. All those synonyms seek your soul and turn it into a profound meaning—the meaning of why you're on this planet, breathing the same air as successful people. You probably noticed I added the word "death" to those synonyms. Well, when you think about it, for some lost souls, there's no difference between being gone and living. As I tried to light my joint on the rainy night of Whyte Avenue, my thoughts became tangled. I was ignoring the fact that they were giving me a major headache. The blue and red lights of the illuminated streets flashed on my wet skin as I sighed at the irritating fact that I couldn't smoke under the current condition. The drops of water ruined the sparkles on my eyes, spreading my black eyeliner and the glitter under my eyes. As I threw my joint out of disappointment on the ground, someone stepped on it, whining about the waste. It was Moussa. We were glad to bump into each other this late. As we strolled together, we decided to go to Casablanca; a hookah bar. 

Shisha made me light-headed. Mostly because I roughly ate eight hundred calories a day and that I wasn't putting anything in my mouth after five o'clock. The funny thing is, there was a night when we got invited by one of Moussa's closest friends, Sympa. We went to sit at a plastic table not too far from his house. We smoked some green until a random man joined us and brought a dirty bong. It looked like a crack pipe turned into a bong. Not very appealing as it seemed someone had pooped inside and spread the shit all over the glass. But Moussa, Sympa, and I were already too high to care, so we accepted to share some hits with the stranger.

We enjoyed our conversations. It was at that moment I realized I had to enjoy every little moment in life. I was meeting new people, laughing together, and exchanging stories. However you encounter a person, learning about who they are as you speak to them can be fascinating. In this unfair world, who could imagine there would be so many individuals who shared the same interests as you? Or would appreciate your presence. Just take advantage of living your life to the fullest. I did. But a little too much. As they all passed the bong, it was eventually my turn to take a hit. But I had the bold idea of inhaling twice in a row, which caused the burning water to levitate till it reached the inside of my mouth. I swallowed. It burned my esophagus as it traveled through my throat. I felt my chest blazing. I hardly coughed, and I almost threw up. I felt my soul rising as I thought I was dying. The high began to become more intense, and, in my mind, I could fly. Grabbing Moussa's shirt, I dragged and hinted to him that I wanted to smoke some shisha. So we left the rest of the group to go on a walk.

Ambling on the sidewalk at 10 P.M, the feeling of being alone and depressed was gone. Looking at the black sky, I thought the night was the most comfortable time to be alive. It was when I could be happy and be myself; High on cannabis, smoking in tribute to my brother. It's like my emotions melted into freedom. And that feeling of liberation allowed me to be happy. Even if Moussa was at my side, the silence of the sad night transported me to another dimension. As I heard a piece of atmospheric music, red lights brightened the whole scene. Everything seemed to go slower every time I took a step. The shadow of my darkened figure followed my movements on the bricks I dragged my left hand on. Life was more profound into the gloom. I drifted my head from left to right at a rapid pace, even though the weed in my brain made everything slow-moving. My vision blurred, and people around me observed my odd actions. I smiled and thought to myself that life was good. Arrived at Casablanca, we both took a seat. As soon as I put my lips on the tip of the hose to smoke, I felt my body floating. That night was sort of magical. But THC and shisha don't go well together, so I felt a little sick. 

Moussa and I always chuckled thinking of that specific situation. However, the bar owner kept asking me if I was feeling better, which was pretty sweet. He would even be ready to beat the shit out of someone who would mess with one of us. I remember Moussa being followed by a man with a gun on a Halloween evening. He had to go to Casablanca to hide and warn the owner who had a machine gun hidden in the back of his bar. Nobody messed with that man. I'm not going to lie, though, Whyte avenue was one hell of a sketchy and dangerous place. 

Despite how funny I burned my inside that night, it couldn't beat the day my best friend and I decided to visit a friend on the south side of Edmonton. Her name was Denden, and she's a pothead, so we planned on smoking some dabs together, which is smoking weed in a glass pipe (or if you'd like to call it: a crack pipe). But the girl didn't have any lines, so we used a plastic bottle. Since she lived with a couple of other people in the same house and it was November and freezing, we went to smoke in a garbage cabin. Once in the cabin, Denden realized she forgot her bottle, so she went back to her place to look for it. Moussa had his weed in a little bag as we were waiting for her to come back. A couple of seconds later, we heard someone knocking on the door. We assumed it was her, so Moussa opened the door. Instead, he was a man who walked his dog and who wanted to dump his garbage in the trash can. My friend, still with his weed in his hands, looked at the man for a good ten seconds before he decided to take the garbage out of his hand and say, "I'll take care of that," while gradually closing the door on him. We looked into each other's eyes for a while before bursting out laughing. How sketchy would that be if you were the poor sir trying to put his garbage in the trash? 

Sympa was throwing a party for his birthday, and we got invited. The blue dancing lights of the hookah bar waved on its dusty walls and leather couches. The atmosphere of the scene evoked a sad feeling I always sensed in me. As Moussa told me about Sympa's birthday party, I spaced out, looking deep into his big brown eyes. Moussa. A man who does not care about what anyone could think of him. He lacks shame and would dance in the streets and live life to the fullest. Here I was, my gaze lost into the pupils of his eyes. I wondered how he prioritized others' happiness more than his, as he managed to stay content.

I finally got my attention back when his long fingers snapped right in front of my unfocused expression. He mentioned that there would be shrooms and a couple more psychedelics at the gathering. To which I responded with a nod as I didn't mind the potent drugs people were bringing. My thoughts were too occupied. I was staring at the wet window behind my best friend's head, thinking of the rain and how the sky cried, how the world bawled its eyes out often in my city. The rain reminded me of everything sensitive, tender, and sublime. As the hose was passed on to me, I took a resounding hit, and I observed the surroundings through the thick smoke. The LED light turned into a purple color that penetrated through the flying vapor. Moussa was turning the smoke he was blowing into circles. 

After a couple of hours of talking about random stuff, I suddenly got on my feet and happily exclaimed that I wanted to leave the bar to run in the rain. We both sprinted towards the stairs that led to the outside door. The door's glass was utterly shattered by some idiot junkie who had the idea to throw a massive rock at it. But we couldn't care less. We violently opened the exit, and as soon as our feet crossed the threshold, we rushed towards the puddles made by the cold drops falling from the gloomy sky. It was miserable weather for two happy souls. Running through the rain, ignoring every single stare, and feeling alive with the person I cherished the most in my life. I learned plenty of things from this man. And living to the fullest is one of the most important lessons of life I have ever acquired knowledge of. I comprehended the happiness of this cruel existence.

As I ran and laughed my lungs out, I forgot all of my problems. Usually, I would walk out in the rain. The pain would be the same as it would always be. Lungs full of smoke from my joint as my heart broke with every step I made. Walking towards my desired destinations but away from myself. I would often fall asleep without feeling anxiety haunting my thoughts and putting pressure on my chest, causing me to hardly breathe for hours before I eventually fell asleep around 4 in the morning. Thanks to my late-night adventures with Moussa, smoking some weed we bought at our local marijuana store, my mood could feel lighter. Strolling in the lightened back alley of restaurants late at night, we smoked and had meaningful conversations. 

The next day at work, I would still feel high. Making me more relaxed and laid back. Until one of my coworkers mentioned psychedelics and how life-changing they are. I mockingly looked at her as I planned on doing my researches later on. Did you know that LSD, aka acid, was a hallucinogenic substance used therapeutically? So are mushrooms and DMT. Many folks seem to report a greater appreciation for and understanding of the connectedness of reality and everything afterward. Those non-addictive drugs change the perspective of life for people consuming those substances, staying in contact with beings and Hindu and Buddhist Gods, affecting your spirituality. Of course, there are those kids using psychedelics in an immature way at parties, but shamans and religious people always found profound meaning in using these drugs.

Not only you cannot overdose on hallucinogens, but it evokes the euphoria and desire to live you once had. It also cured many individuals' addiction to harder drugs and alcohol. As impressive as it sounded when I read these facts, I still came across some downsides while reading. Just like anything you put in your body would have. Bad trips can happen. And they are no fun. Especially because drugs such as LSD can last up to twelve whole hours, imagine having constant looping thoughts that feed your anxiety with negativity—overthinking about every little thing you observe and think about. But sometimes, bad trips have to happen. Because that's when your third eye opens, and you see the world for how it is, and at last, you have the power to make the better decisions. I'm in no way glorifying the use of illegal substances, but... I would recommend them. They might be the most important thing you ever tried in your life. People broke up with their toxic partners, they gained confidence and succeeded at job interviews, they solved issues, they got more creative, they changed their personality for the better, being more open to new experiences, depression, and anxiety were erased from their lives as well as it could bring success. I mean Steve Jobs, Cary Grant, Kary Mullis, Francis Crick, Sting, Bill Gates. They all had life-changing experiences thanks to psychedelics. And I'm not talking about the cocaine and heroin type of euphoric change. I'm talking about an actual good and safe change, without damaging your system unless you overuse what you take. But that's the same as if you eat too many vegetables. You'd have diarrhea. 

I was on my way to Sympa's place under the same red lights that illuminated my high self the other day. The night was tranquil, though. The silence of the sky allowed the weather to be less cynical. The rain was non-existent. As I kicked and followed a rock for several minutes, I took deep breaths. I would be lying if I said I wasn't a bit nervous about the fact that I was going to try shrooms. It couldn't be as bad as when I got wasted on wine at Moussa's party a couple of months ago, though. I did not eat anything that day, so I got tipsy on my second glass of rosé. I almost let myself fall in the campfire as I kept giggling at everyone's faces. I ended up crying in my best friend's arms about my brother's death. And that night, I did a lot of thinking. Sitting on the silent train at midnight. The light bars of the LRT revealed a red color, as I placed my head on the window. I was looking at the darkness of the night, observing nothing as I was still slightly drunk. 

Arrived at Sympa's place, loud lofi songs could be heard from outside. I climbed the half-broken stairs and walked to the blue door of the house. My hand touched the handle and twisted it as I slowly pushed the door with my knee. I put one foot on the threshold and let my opposite foot repeat the movement. It smelled like pot, the atmosphere was warm, and smoke was flying all over the place. On my right, I could see the back of the burgundy couch and the television. On the right was the stairs, but we won't go there. I began walking in front of me, where the kitchen was. Sympa was making burgers, to which he invited me to take one. I implied that I don't eat that late since the clock read 8 P.M., But he winked at me and said they were "special burgers." My eyes widened as I was astonished yet excited. "nice" was the only word that came out of my mouth. The next room situated on the left was a guest room with a comfortable sofa and a table where many young adults played beer pong. Moussa arose from behind to scare me. I almost dropped my burger. I sat and took a bite of my burger, forgetting the magic shrooms were inside, adding the earthy taste to the dish. I was relaxed on the soft couch, having small conversations with friends. Moussa had a companion who only spoke English, and he adored to tease him, referring to himself as the "n-word" in french. So that's what Moussa said his name was, and the poor white boy would repeat. But Sympa and I screamed at the innocent man before he even had the chance to pronounce that word. 

As we laughed, I felt some colors waving on the wall before my eyes. It had been twenty minutes that I've bitten into my food. The voices of my friends faded away as I could only hear my thoughts. I felt a weird giddy sensation in my stomach. A couple of minutes later, the couch was wiggling as the colors around appeared more noticeable and vibrant. I started laughing on my own as I realized how connected things are, how all atoms in the universe are connected like a fabric. How happy and warm a person can feel, and how accessible those feelings are. It is easy to set aside the negativity and take in life through your senses as you go with it. It was as if I had been in a ship trapped in ice, and the psychedelic shrooms helped break the ice apart and helped me to move on. It was at that moment I understood why some therapists use medical shrooms to help patients. And that some states and countries legalized the substance. But why? Why are psychedelics, a type of medication that allows the mind better than some subscriptions drugs, not legal but drugs such as alcohol and cigarettes are? Let me tell you why. Because the government doesn't want the citizens to see what the world truly is.

Revolutions would occur as we would all wake the hell up. Coming to the profound realization that this world we live in is a fucked up mess. As my upper and lower eyelid gradually met each other, the lines I perceived morphing on the wall became more intense. These effects can be quite powerful for a first-timer. This is why microdosing is the better solution. The setting of the room wasn't that bad; it allowed me to have a regular trip. I ended up lying down on the now-empty couch and deeply reflecting on my own depressing life. Maybe a little bit too much. I started asking myself why the word boob was also funny, it was too aggressive, and the breast was too formal. Other than that, I was able to escape reality. I began to comprehend life more.

Most importantly, I realized the sound affected the atmosphere of the room and my mood. I also realized that I was visualizing the energy coming off of people in the rest of the space, which was being controlled by the music that was playing. But as soon as I didn't enjoy a song Sympa put on, the place became quiet and dark as it felt sort of cold. Like visualizing a person's aura. It was a more incredible experience than when I ate that one edible my friend baked and sold to me. The strain, which was gorilla glue, had too much THC. My body couldn't stop trembling as the back of my head burned up. My heart raced like never before.

The potent chocolate chip cookie brought sweat all over my skin, and I couldn't breathe as everything was spinning around me. Feeling my over-dried lips caused by the weed, I lay down for two long hours, attentionally watching the ceiling brightened by blue lights. The room felt warm. Too warm. Opening the window was the best solution as I wanted to vomit. I eventually closed my eyes and fell asleep, shivering. Oddly, cannabis could very well activate anxiety more than hallucinogens. I forced myself not to remember this atrocious event to avoid any bad trip. Luckily, Moussa suddenly suggested going on a bicycle ride. To which I replied positively. I had to live every single moment of my life.

My best friend was sober, so he rode the bike as I sat behind him, tightly wrapping my arms around his waist. Leaning back, I observed the sky morphing into cylindrical shapes. A tear escaped my worn out eyes as I thought about death and how lucky I am to be alive. Being capable of feeling all of those emotions life allowed me to experience. I didn't know doing a simple thing such as going outside on a bicycle ride would be that enjoyable. Understanding that life is a beautiful privilege when I know others suffer more than I ever did make me both happy and sad at the same time. But it's life. And how can we change it? We aren't God. We just need to live through the pain and notice how wonderful the little things in life are. I slowly put my head on Moussa's back, letting a tear roll down my cold cheek. 

"Moussa... you got cheated on, lied to, abandoned by fake friends, and got continually mocked as much as you lost people. How are you still so happy like nothing bad ever happened to you?" 

"'My little Messa... Life isn't about how sad you should be after countless bad moments happened. It's about how stronger you've become whenever something didn't kill you. Look around you. There's life. Isn't that magnificent? How is Earth the only planet in our solar system that gave us life? How lucky are we to experience such a privilege? How rare and beautiful is it to even exist?" 

"But that privilege has consequences... We suffer too. No matter how happy I become, something bad happens-"

"Messa, it's called life. Of course, we suffer from time to time. It's healthy to feel all those emotions. Here's a question for you: Would you like you if you met you?" 

At that moment, my head started to hurt. I stayed silent, thinking of that question to which I still have no answer. I guess I would think I'd be fun sometimes but very broken. I just shut my eyes and kept seeing all sorts of patterns throughout my eyelids. Those mushrooms were quite potent. 

My life isn't always snorting DMT, smoking marijuana, dropping acid, drinking peyote, and eating shrooms. Although, it is thanks to psychedelics that I could see life through another perspective. No, you don't need drugs to feel like you are living. You just need to take a deep breath and observe what surrounds you. What makes you laugh, who you cherish the most, and take advantage of living every second of your existence. It could be finding a beautiful flower in an empty field. It could be a bird flying, a drawing you made, or even perceiving a shiny rock in a flowing river. Yes, life is unfair, but it is beautiful. I soon discerned that it wasn't the drugs that made my life better but the people around me and life itself. And that whatever happens, happens for a reason. Life goes. All I know is that I will take advantage of every single moment life offers me. 

Letter to you

Tonight I want you to close your eyes and think of all of the things that make you, you. The things that encourage you to keep living. As Aristotle said: "It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light." And he wasn't wrong. Because it is only in the dark, we can perceive the stars. Life is full of surprises; never give up on the fact that you can be carefree and live life to the fullest. And if you think you are a failure, don't forget the most successful people once failed a million times before stepping on the floor of success. You are loved. You are not alone. You will never be alone. Not with that many people on this planet. And most importantly, live. 

Because if tomorrow starts without you, the sun may only rise to shine the tears of dispirited loved ones.


End file.
